


I Made It For You

by criminycakes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Artist Castiel, Baking, Bobby's House, Car Accidents, Chef Dean, Chef!Dean, Chefs, Complete, Dean-Centric, Dialogue, Domestic, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hotels, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jessica Moore and Sam Winchester are Cute, M/M, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam's Bitchface, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Workplace Relationship, artist!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 19,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4589100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criminycakes/pseuds/criminycakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is the head pastry chef at a four-star hotel in Kansas. Castiel is the newest member on the cleaning crew. He's quiet and skittish and no one knows why he's there; he doesn't fit in, he has no experience, and he's not telling. Dean thinks he must know the owner. Michael may be a dick, but even he has his soft spots. And Dean has to admit that if those wide blue eyes didn't do the trick, nothing would.<br/>OR<br/>The one in which Castiel runs from an abusive relationship and Dean uses baked goods as therapy.</p><p>See additional tags for archive warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> It's done! Thank you so much to everyone who read it and left feedback in the comments. I can't find words to explain how much it means to me that you guys connected with it. <3

There's something comforting about the enormous, clanging, voice-filled roar of an industrial kitchen in action. The noise is like an ocean, and Dean revels in it. When he's prowling through the kitchen hauling ingredients, barking orders, beating this, whipping that, he can't hear himself think, and for that he's grateful. The smell of flour and butter in the air reminds him of sitting in the kitchen when he was young while his mother baked. He floats on the surface of it all and drowns everything out.  
Everything, that is, except for the grating voice drilling a hole through his early morning calm. Steam is rising from the kitchen, the freezer is being pillaged as people prepare their worktops for the day ahead, and Naomi is striding through the maze of steel, plastic, and wood with her clipboard, calling for Dean.  
'Winchester!'  
He winces and briefly considers pretending that he didn't hear and hiding in the walk-in. Stupid fleeting thoughts. Why should he let Naomi put him off? He wheels around.  
'Here, Naomi.'  
'There you are. Castiel, this is Dean. Dean, meet one of our newest. Castiel is joining accommodation today.'  
Dean does a double take. Usually new maids – sorry – room attendants – are chipper and bright-eyed. Dean's used to smiling women in their mid-twenties armed with confidence and a no-nonsense attitude, but this guy...he looks like he's afraid of his own shadow. Naomi keeps talking, but Dean isn't really listening, he's busy looking Castiel up and down curiously. He's not bad looking. In fact, if he wasn't shrinking in on himself, he'd be gorgeous, with that black bedhead hair. Castiel shoots Dean a nervous glance and Dean is momentarily incapacitated by a shock of bright blue. Why does it suddenly seem so quiet? And why is Naomi giving him such a weird look?  
'Did you hear me, Dean?'  
Dean gives his head a quick shake. 'Sorry, what?'  
Naomi sighs, exasperated. 'Can you take Castiel around the kitchen? Show him where the teacups and room service supplies are, and then show him back to the trolley room. I'll take it from there.' She gives Castiel a brusque nod and a tight-lipped smile and leaves. Castiel stares after her like Tom Hanks stared after that volleyball, then turns to look at Dean. Wide-eyed. Unsure.  
Dean smiles. He remembers that feeling. 'Hey,' he says, and nods.  
'Hello.' Holy shit. Did the guy gargle rocks for breakfast?  
'So, it's your first day?'  
'Yes.'  
No further comment. Ooookay then. Dean puts down his bag of flour and wipes his hands on his apron. 'Come on, the stuff you'll need is over here.' He leads Castiel around the counters, past Jo washing berries and Kevin already starting on the shortcrust. The smell of pie is in the air, it's Dean's favourite menu. Life is good. He turns around to ask Castiel some kind of boring small-talk question and Castiel flinches.  
'Relax, man. I won't bite.' Dean is a little taken aback by this guy's hesitance. No, is it hesitance? It's more like fear. 'Seriously. It's not so bad here. I know it's overwhelming at first, but you get used to it.' Castiel nods, swallows. Dean stops at a section of wall shelving and turns to Castiel. 'So here you go. There are saucers, teacups, packets of instant coffee, teabags, and sugar. Don't quote me on this, but I think the room attendants are supposed to take about ten sets back to their trolley.' Dean waits for a response, any response. Castiel looks like he's waiting for something. Dean is starting to feel concerned, and a little lost. 'Seriously, Castiel – it's Castiel, right? Are you okay? You look like you're about to hurl.'  
'Yeah, I'm fine. I just – um – how do I carry these?'  
Oh. 'Right. Hold up, I'll grab you a tray.' Dean takes off, making his way over to a side cupboard. Hm, a tray big enough for ten sets. Which stack do the girls usually grab from? Dean hazards a guess and picks out a medium sized circular tray. When he gets back, Castiel is waiting for him in the same place with his back almost pressed up against the shelf.  
'Thank you,' he says quietly, and takes the tray without looking at Dean. He begins piling on cups and saucers.  
'No problem,' Dean replies. 'I have to get back to sifting and bossing people around, I'll get Chuck to take you back to trolley central.'  
'Of course.' Dean hesitates, then turns to go. Exactly what is that feeling in his stomach? Is that a guilty pang? He tries to shake it off. He has a kitchen to run, he can't be herding new recruits all over the hotel, despite what Naomi thinks. Still, he feels like he should do something.  
'Hey, Cas, listen.' Castiel starts and meets Dean's eyes for the third time. Dean suppresses the feeling of awkward over-friendliness and opens his mouth to continue before realizing he has no idea what to say. 'Uh...just...let me know if you need anything. Anything at all. I remember wishing someone had said that to me on my first day.' He smiles at Cas and turns around to go find Chuck and realizes. That. He. Just. Called. A complete stranger. A. Nickname. Just keep walking, Dean. Dean finds Chuck staring forlornly into the staff fridge. 'Hey, Chuck.' Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to think about what a serious ass he just made of himself. 'See that lost-looking guy with the black hair over there?' Chuck cranes his neck around Dean's shoulder.  
'Yeah?'  
'Think you could take him back to the accommodation people? He's new.'  
'Anything, as long as it gets me out of cleaning this fridge. Remember Meg, who used to work here? Brought all that fruit for lunch?'  
'No, why?'  
'Her fruit has been at the back this whole time. They don't pay me enough for this shit.'  
Dean sighs. 'Chuck, are you shaking me down right now?'  
'If I say yes, am I in trouble?'  
Dean narrows his eyes. 'Just go shepherd the newbie, Chuck, I'm not in the mood.' Chuck makes a face and shambles off. 'And you still have to clean this when you get back!'


	2. 2.

Dean feels all the tension drain out of him as the machinery powers down. Everything whirs into silence except for the gentle hum of the freezers and fridges, and Dean can relax. Everyone has gone home, everyone has clocked out except for him. He wipes down the surfaces one last time, hands moving in familiar circular motions, and thinks about the day. Everything had gone smoothly after the morning. He had had to rush the sifting a little to make up for those precious lost minutes, but everyone was on the ball, and all the pastries were made in time for the banquet. Weddings. He shakes his head. Weddings are the worst. Everyone is high-strung, and everything always seems to go wrong.  
The stress in the kitchen during wedding days brings Dean back to youthful memories that he'd rather avoid. Days when he and Sammy were hungry and bickering, when the food was stretched thin and the motel walls seemed to close in around them, and visions of terrible accidents hung in the air ('What if he was hurt, Dean? What if he was hit by a car? What if he was attacked?'). Dean would try to reassure Sam as his own fraying temper bit at its leash and sometimes he'd end up snapping irritably, which made them both feel even worse.  
Dean takes a deep breath and braces himself against the counter. He exhales through his mouth and tries to calm his suddenly racing heartbeat. He looks around for something, anything else, to focus on. His hand moves automatically to turn on the oven. The light clicks on and Dean sets it to gas 5. He's on autopilot now, his body has taken over, it's like a reflex at this stage. Dean chops apples and sees blood. He cracks eggs and he can feel his father's disappointment when he stabs a fork into the yolks. He takes it all (blood, disappointment, responsibility, loneliness) and buries it all beneath a circle of shortcrust. Then he glazes it with milk, scores it with a fork, and puts it in the oven. Shoves it to the back of his mind, that corner where nothing ever moves. And when it comes out 40 minutes later, it's sweet and clean and Dean feels like he's accomplished something, turned all this blackness in him into something useful, something helpful, something soothing.  
It smells delicious, but Dean can never eat these pies. He doesn't want those thoughts back.


	3. 3.

'So you've never thought about it?'  
'What, how I'd prefer to die? No. What kind of question is that?'  
'Oh, don't be such a wuss. Think about it, Dean. What about drowning?'  
'Depends on what you're drowning in. Chocolate I could do.' Dean grins and Jo laughs, tossing her hair back. Dean loves bantering with Jo, it reminds him of Sam. But Jo isn't Sam, and Dean can't completely let loose with her, always has to keep a thin screen between them, even if it's only to reassure himself that he isn't encouraging her. This crush of hers will dissipate, given time. Dean is sure of that, he dated enough women in college to recognize Jo's type. She's sweet, charming, and much too good for Dean. Fragile deep down, though she doesn't act like it.  
'How you're not fatter than you are, I don't know.' Jo jabs him in the ribs.  
'Hey! Watch the money-maker. Where would I be without this baby?' He pats his stomach.  
'Broke and living under a bridge, I'm sure.' She rolls her eyes. Dean shrugs and smiles into his sandwich. Best part of working in a hotel kitchen? Getting free hotel leftovers for lunch. Whenever Dean takes his lunch break in the staff section of the kitchen (three ramshackle tables pressed up against one wall of the room where they store serving dishes) he feels like he's eating in a commune or a POW camp. Or a can of overworked sardines. Today's not so bad. Before Jo came over, Dean had been in the background, quietly watching Kevin and Chuck play a loud game of competitive hangman. Which is still going strong. Just as Kevin points out that Chuck's hanged-man's hat looks more like a frying pan and Chuck responds by throwing the pencil at Kevin's head, the accommodation crew walk in. It's a sea of sweaty, red-faced women, walking too quickly, like they haven't adjusted to being on a break. No smiles there.  
'It's like the march of the bummed out lemmings, right?' Chuck leans over and mutters. Kevin huffs a laugh. 'I'd hate that job.'  
Dean nods emphatically, mouth full of sandwich. When the women all settle grimly with their plates, they don't chat like the kitchen crew. Dean looks them over and a tousled mop of black hair catches his eye. It's the new guy, Cas. Castiel. Dean can't help but think that he looks out of place sitting there. He must know the owner. Michael may be a dick, but even he has his soft spots. And Dean has to admit that if those wide blue eyes didn't do the trick, nothing would. Castiel's picking at his food while his neighbours dig in, and keeping his eyes down. Why isn't he eating? Isn't he hungry?  
'Hey.' He turns to Chuck and Kevin, who stop snarking at each other to listen. 'What do you think of the new guy?  
'Cleaning crew?' says Kevin. 'Heard he came here from Toronto.'  
'I don't like him.'  
'You never like anyone, Chuck.'  
'I think he's sweet,' Jo chimes in. 'Needs to grow a pair, but he was really nice to me when I showed him the staff room.'  
'Really?!'  
Jo frowns at Dean. 'Why do you sound so surprised?'  
'I don't know, he just doesn't seem very...friendly. Could've been first day jitters. He didn't say more than two words to me.'  
Jo shrugs. 'Probably intimidated by you. He doesn't know you sleep with a teddy bear and a nightlight.'  
'Har har, blondie.' Dean stands up, gathering his cutlery onto the tray. He walks back to the main kitchen area, nodding at the table full of disgruntled maids as he passes. He watches Cas – CASTIEL, Dean, for fuck's sake – and Castiel doesn't look up.


	4. 4.

Dean is flying over the sea. Waves upon waves upon endless waves. The sun glints off the water, the water swallows the sun. Dean can see everything. Each waving strand of kelp, each fish, each grain of sand. He can see all the way to the bottom of the ocean, and he watches from the salt-speckled air. He's so thirsty. He knows he can't drink the seawater, but one little sip couldn't hurt, could it? He tries to lean down, to reach out, but he can't move. He's pinned up against the sky like a butterfly in a case. Panicking now, trying not to think about his lungs seizing up, he flails against the blue of it. 'Wait,' someone says. 'Stop, you're going to come loose.' Dean looks around wildly, and there, standing on the surface of the ocean, waves lapping at his feet, is Castiel, holding a glass of water. He smiles at Dean and throws the glass. Time stops. Every drop of water is held up in the air like a jewel, like a cell under a microscope. Castiel's smile is blinding. Dean wakes up, and now it's just the light through the curtains blinding him. There's a single glorious moment where Dean feels an almost overwhelming joy and then it passes and he's left feeling disoriented.

Dean thinks of the dream all day. He's lost in it. The look on Castiel's face, the falling droplets of water, the feeling of being frozen. He's not really in the mood for chatting, so he's grateful for the hectic schedule of the day. The machines chunter and rattle in corners, and the noises of the appliances destroy any hope for conversation. Dean's glad. Otherwise, someone might ask him why he's so distracted, and he might have to think about it, and he doesn't want to. It's a bank holiday weekend, and a slew of people are booked in. The cleaning crew are in and out all day, running back and forth with cups, saucers, napkins, bottles of cleaning solution. Dean looks up every time, hoping to see Castiel.  
When he finally does, it takes him by surprise. Dean's mixing kirsch into almond flour for redcurrant amandines and he's completely focused on blending when he catches sight of someone standing nearby out of the corner of his eye. He glances up, prepared to tell Chuck to deal with whatever it is himself, and is pulled up short by the sight of Castiel. Dean nearly drops his bowl.  
'Hey! Castiel! I – uh – I didn't see you.'  
'Is this a bad time? I can ask someone else.'  
'No, that's okay. What's up?' Dean puts his bowl down. It is a bad time, but Castiel looks frazzled and exhausted and wild-eyed.  
'Do you have any spare face cloths? The laundry is out and the laundry man says the next load is still drying and we need them for the 120 corridor because we're way behind and Hester sent me and she needs to get this room done quickly because the guests are in the lobby already.'  
'Whoa, hey, breathe. We have a few in the back storeroom.' Castiel breathes a sigh of relief and Dean tries hard not to smile. 'Come on, I'll show you.' Dean leads Cas past the walk in, which is slightly ajar, as usual. Dean can hear someone clattering around at the back. He turns his attention back to Castiel, who's looking around like he's trying to memorize the place. 'These face cloths are the older ones; they're a little smaller, but they do in a pinch. They shipped them back here when the new ones came in.'  
Castiel's jaw locks in frustration. 'Did they really need to do that?'  
Dean shrugs. 'It seems unnecessary to me, too. People have their standards, I guess, and never seem to realize how much work goes into keeping them up. How much waste.' He's surprised at the bitterness in his voice, and it looks like Castiel is too. 'That's why I prefer smaller restaurants. Big hotel kitchen? It's fine, but I always feel bad when we have to throw out entire pallets of uneaten bread and stuff like that.' Castiel is looking at him, really looking at him. There's a pause, and Dean's face starts to feel uncomfortably hot.  
'It's not very ethical,' Cas – Castiel – finally says. 'Throwing out everything that isn't perfect? It's unfair.'  
'I know.'  
Castiel is quiet for a moment, then looks around. 'Are these the face cloths? I'd better run back.'  
Dean clears his throat. 'Yeah. Yeah, that's them. Go for the ones underneath, the top ones are a little dusty.'  
'Thank you.'  
'No problem.'  
'Really.' And then he's gone, and Dean stands there by himself for a moment before returning to his amandine in the kitchen. He mixes absentmindedly for a few moments, then puts the mixture aside to start on the coulis for the top. Currants, yes, sugar, yes, water, yes, saucepan, yes, sieve? Dammit. Dean whirls around and scans the cleaned equipment, and everyone else's workstations. No sieve. He'll have to go grab one from the back of dish service. He wends his way among counters and walks briskly down the enclosed hall behind dish service, little more than a lino-paneled strip separating the guests' dining hall from the kitchen. He's halfway through when Castiel appears at the other end.  
'Lost?' Dean asks.  
'Just went the wrong way.'  
They both stop and turn sideways at the same time and laugh. Castiel looks surprised with himself, and Dean motions for him to squeeze by. Dean presses himself against the wall as Cas – hell with it, he can be Cas from now on – edges past him. There is a brief moment that lasts forever when Cas is directly in front of Dean: They're facing each other, inches apart, and Cas looks at him. Dean stops breathing and in an instant he's floored. Ozone. Chemical rush. Lightning. Then Cas looks away and nods his thanks, continues down the corridor, and Dean stands there, dumbfounded, reeling. Did he just - ?


	5. 5.

After work, Dean goes into his house long enough to pack a duffel bag and make a phone call, then he heads to the airport. It's only a three hour flight out to Stanford, but Dean wants to leave as soon as possible because it tires him out to travel by plane. No, it isn't because he spends half the flight hyperventilating and trying not to scream, of course not. If he had a choice, he'd drive his baby out, but he only has a few days off from work, so he has to compromise.  
The flight is quick, but hellish, and Dean leaves with shaky legs and sweaty palms. Sam is waiting for him at the arrivals gate.  
'Dean!'  
Dean smiles, feeling relief flood his veins. His brain knows that Sam is fine without him, but the rest of Dean needs to see it to believe it, every time. 'Sammy!' His mutant gigantor brother wraps him in a hug and claps him on the back. 'Hope you didn't totally lose it like the last time.'  
'Shut up, bitch.'  
'Jerk.' Sam wrestles the duffel out of Dean's protesting hands on the way to the carpark, and after only a few minutes, they're at Sam's car.  
'Sam, what the hell is that?'  
'Economical, Dean, not like dad's gas-guzzler.' He unlocks his sleek little hatchback with an ostentatious beeping noise that makes Dean grind his teeth. Sam grins at Dean's irritation. Dean rolls his eyes and settles into the passenger seat with distaste, eyeing the iPod dock. Augh, seriously, Sam? Seriously? Sam hits the power button with pride, so Dean doesn't say anything.  
And that's how they end up pulling into the driveway of Sam's apartment blasting alt pop, Sam bopping along and Dean rubbing his hands over his wincing face. Dean may love his younger brother, but his taste in music is just abominable. Freakishly repetitive riffs are still echoing in Dean's ears when he puts his bag down in the front hall.  
'Where's Jess?'  
'She's actually gone to see her parents. I think she wanted to give us some space for 'bonding' or something.'  
Dean frowns. 'She didn't have to do that. It would've been nice to see her.'  
'Don't take it personally, she wanted to see them anyway. That's Jess,' Sam says fondly, 'always thoughtful to a fault.'  
'Well next time tell her not to leave on my account. You know I like her better than you anyway.'  
'Actually, I was all for it. We need to talk, Dean, just us.'  
Dean is immediately on the alert. 'What's wrong?'  
'No, no, nothing like that, relax. We just haven't spent much time together lately. Quick phone calls once or twice a week don't really do it. I miss having my brother around.'  
The tension drains from Dean's shoulders, his stomach un-knots, and his fists relax. He tries not to sound shaky when he responds, 'God, Samantha, don't freak me out like that. Alright, enough with the feelings. What are we doing tonight?'  
'W – aren't you tired? You did just get off a flight straight - .'  
'Nah. Feel fine. I'm ready to be shown off, let's go.' He smirks, and heads upstairs with his bag. 'I'll change and be right down.'


	6. 6.

Dean can't tell which is louder, the music or the conversation. The bartenders are buzzing around with laughter and smiles and hands full of drinks, and the atmosphere is more upbeat than Dean ever thought it could be in a bar. The chalkboard menu advertises the $2 shot of the night: Blow Jobs. Dean nudges Sam, points at the billboard, and sniggers. He doesn't even have to look at Sam to know his response is bitchface #9 (You're So Immature). He follows Sam, who is wading through the crowd like the enormous moose he is, heading toward the back, where a few scruffy girls and guys in novelty tees that say things like ' √(-1) 2(3) ∑ π ...and it was delicious!' are setting up amps and guitars. They greet Sam warmly and shake Dean's hand.  
'Any brother of Sam's is a brother of ours.' Dean struggles not to roll his eyes.  
'We're going to grab drinks and find somewhere to stand, catch you guys after!' Sam calls, and pulls Dean to the bar. 'What are you having, Dean?'  
'Surprise me.'  
Sam leans over and attracts the bartender's attention immediately. Dean has to admit that there are advantages to being a relative of Bigfoot. Sam leans in close to the bartender to holler their order over the music, and she nods, pulling out a bottle of Baileys and a bottle of Amaretto. And two shot glasses. Oh no. Dean is going to be hammered by the end of the night, even if it is just Sam's girly liqueur. He whaps Sam on the shoulder and mouths, 'Sammy, shots?!' Sam cracks a wicked grin and pushes the filled shot glass over to Dean, who gives up. They clink and down them. Chocolate and cream burn down to Dean's stomach and warm him up. 'Ack.' Sam coughs and Dean laughs. The bartender smiles at them and pours them two more, then heads off down the bar to where a big guy in a skintight muscle tee is yelling for her attention.  
An hour later and they're halfway drunk. The band with the clever shirts are bashing away at their guitars in the corner, surrounded by a knot of dancing students, Sam among them. Dean doesn't dance, so he's leaning against the bar and laughing at Sam when a guy leans in next to him and says, 'What are you drinking?'  
Dean gives him the once over. He looks deceptively sweet, there's no other way to put it. He's a few inches shorter than Dean, slim build, with a twinkle in his eye. Dean likes the guy's confidence; he knows he's not exactly approachable. The broad shoulders, height, and overshirt usually put people off. This guy looks...mischievous. Like one of those pictures of the goblins from the books Dean's mother read him when he was young. He decides to play along. He wiggles his shot glass and raises his eyebrows. 'Shots. Blow jobs.'  
The man grins appreciatively and nods. 'Let me get you one then.' He leans over the bar and orders Dean a refill. 'What's your name?'  
'Dean. And yours?'  
'Aaron. I haven't seen you here before, are you new?'  
'Nah, just visiting. The beanpole is my brother.' Dean waves his glass in Sam's direction.  
'Oh, you're Sam's brother? Cool. He mentions you a lot. From what I hear, you're pretty close to hero material.'  
'Not so much,' Dean says uncomfortably. 'So you're a student too? Are you in law?'  
'Nah. Medicine.'  
'Like it?'  
'It's alright. I really only did it for my parents. What can I say? It's useful. For instance,' he leans in closer to Dean. 'I know exactly where all your sweet spots are.' Dean shivers a little, and knows Aaron felt it. 'Come back to my room?' Aaron says, quietly. Dean can barely hear him over the music. Dean glances at Sam, then back at Aaron. And, for a second, he sees the brightest blue eyes. He shakes his head a little, and Aaron is still looking at him searchingly. Dean sighs.  
'I'm flattered, but I'm gonna have to pass.'  
Aaron nods, looking only slightly disappointed. 'No prob. Hey, give me a call if you change your mind.' He winks and scribbles his number on a nearby beermat, then leaves with a smile. Dean smiles back, and Sam comes over, sweaty and swaying slightly.  
'Hey, was that Aaron?'  
'Yep.'  
Sam gives Dean a look. 'You know, Dean, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to...you know. I mean, don't let me keep you. You guys looked like you were hitting it off.'  
'Hah. Thanks, Sammy, but no thanks.'  
'Why not? He's a pretty nice guy. He's funny. You seemed to like him. When was the last time, Dean?'  
Dean shrugs uncomfortably, then laughs. 'That babe in Daytona.'  
Sam gapes. 'I knew it!'  
Dean downs his shot. 'Besides, I'm here to visit with my little bro.' Sam looks so disappointed that Dean adds, 'Okay, fine. Maybe there's someone at work.'  
Sam's face lights up. 'At the hotel? Awesome! When do I get to meet him? Or is it a her?'  
'Calm down. I don't even know him.' He waves his hand dismissively.  
'C'mon, Dean, spill!'  
Dean feigns deafness. 'More shots!'


	7. 7.

Dean wakes up blinded again, but this time it's because he has a killer headache. His stomach rolls and he jerks up and stumbles to the bathroom to lean over the toilet. His stomach heaves and empties. Dean rinses his mouth and splashes cold water on his face. He shivers. Oh this is horrible. His hands and feet are freezing and the rest of him is overheated. He hears a groan from the next room, and wanders in, wincing in the light.  
'Sammy?'  
'Shhh. Ow.'  
'Sam.'  
'Ughh. What.'  
'Where do you keep the aspirin?'  
'None. Bad for liver.'  
'You're joking.' Dean stares disbelievingly at Sam, who's covering his eyes with his forearm.  
'Nnnn.' And there he goes, asleep again. Dean turns around and makes his way down the hall, stomach still moving uncomfortably, and passes his rumpled sofa bed on the way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He sits at the table and takes small sips, and his headache abates somewhat. It's going to be a lazy day in. He fills another glass and takes it into Sam's room, leaving it on the bedside table. Then he sets to work. He finds a couple eggs, a tomato or two, and an avocado. When he opens the fridge, he's rewarded with spinach and what he thinks is goat's cheese. Typical Sam and his rabbit food. Scrambled egg it is. He searches the cupboards in vain for bread to eat with it, finding only tortilla wraps. That'll do.  
Dean can already feel his head clearing, but there's a dull ache in his chest. Everything sort of fades as he splits the avocado with a knife, whacks his blade into the stone, and twists it out. He knocks the stone off on the edge of the sink and the impact reverberates up his arm and makes him feel sick. He cuts the avocado into quarters neatly, cleanly, thinking of surgery and scalpels. He digs his thumbs between the skin and the flesh and the avocado separates effortlessly. He feels brutal. He feels lost. He cleans it all, chops it all up into little pieces, pours it into the pan, and somehow, alchemically, violently, all of his horror becomes a meal that he will put on a plate and take in to his brother, who needs it. Who needs him. _Needed_ him, Dean reminds himself, and he can breathe again. Nobody will ever understand how hard it was to see Sam off to Stanford, watching him disappear from Dean's homebound life like a pair of headlights at night. Dean still didn't know how he felt about it. When Sam left, Dean felt emptied out. He had no more enormous responsibility hanging over him, he didn't have a mouth to feed depending on him anymore, but he didn't have any purpose either. So he cooked. And cooked. And cooked. And had no one to feed but himself, which was how he became a chef.  
His thoughts are interrupted by the smell. Dean can always tell when eggs are done by the smell. The scent becomes bigger, more ragged, loses its faint sweetness. He turns the pan off and roots out two plates and forks. He brings a plate in to Sam, who is finally awake and sitting up, rubbing his temples.  
'Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Breakfast.'  
Sam looks up and smiles. 'Thanks, chef.' Dean hates being thanked, so he never says 'you're welcome.'  
'I used all your spinach.'  
'That's cool, it was going to go bad in a day or two.'  
Dean yawns. 'I'm going to go out and get some aspirin. You want anything?'  
'No, thanks. I'll see what's on TV. Marathon day?'  
'Totally. Be back soon.'  
When Dean returns with aspirin, Sam is sitting on the folded up sofa bed watching 'The Defender.' There's a console on the floor and also 'Lone Wolf McQuade' on DVD. Dean takes two aspirin and opens a bag of licorice. And so it begins. For the rest of the day they watch movies, play video games, and argue good-naturedly about different characters. Dean cooks them dinner in the evening, and falls asleep easily.  
Dean leaves early the next morning. Sam gets up to drive him to the airport, yawning and, thankfully, not playing any music. When they get there, Dean pulls his bag out of the backseat and turns to give Sam a hug.  
'Next time, you come out and visit me, and we'll both go to Bobby's. You know he'd love to see you.'  
'You can count on it. Have a safe flight, Dean. See you in a few weeks.'  
'Take care of yourself, Sammy.'


	8. 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short, even shorter than the others! It's not really a chapter, it just needed its own space.

Dean drives home from the airport, reveling in the feeling of being back in his own car. He pats the dashboard. 'That hatchback didn't mean anything, baby.' He puts in a cassette (yes, he still uses cassettes, so sue him) and turns the volume up, relaxing into the sounds of his own familiar music. The late afternoon sun streams in through the windows, slanting across the air in the car, making Dean feel peaceful and safe, light flickering through the trees on either side of the road. When Dean drives, all of his thoughts blow out the back windows and he doesn't need to think, doesn't need to feel anything, he just needs to exist. All he has to do is steer. He sees his father's face in every passing car.

For the next week, Dean finds his eyes constantly zeroing in on Castiel. When they arrive in the mornings, when they sit at different tables at lunch break, any time Cas happens to be in the vicinity, Dean's heart speeds up and he can't seem to look away for long. They exchange greetings as per usual and snippets of small talk that make Dean awkwardly aware of his hands, his face, his hair. He finds himself constantly on edge, but instead of tension, it's a tingling electric pleasure. Castiel gradually loses the frightened rabbit look and stops watching his feet when he walks. He looks around more, actually eats lunch, and Dean's even seen him laughing with Jo and a few of the attendants, which makes his heart skip. He wishes that Cas would look at him that way, just once, but, maybe because he's unsure, maybe because he's a little scared (though he'll never admit it, ever), he's never anything more than politely friendly to Cas.


	9. 9.

'Just get her home! I'll cover til you get back. Kevin! You're on pastry.'  
''M fine, really,' Jo mutters.  
'No, you're not,' says Chuck reasonably, supporting her and staggering to the back door. Dean stares after them anxiously.  
'She'll be okay, she'll just have a wicked bruise,' Kevin tells Dean. 'She's tough.' Dean chews his lip and nods.  
'Yeah. Anyway, I'm going to run this tray out really quickly, then I'll come back for the mains, you finish the eclairs. Do not overcook them or Naomi will have my head.'  
'Right.' Kevin nods and hustles back to the oven as Dean grabs the lunch-laden tray and backs out of the swinging doors. Room service. Really. Why can't the guests just get their asses up and walk to the dining room? It's like a three minute walk, max. Dean walks as quickly as he can without alarming anyone. He walks down the 120s corridor, heading for bottom 70s. An open door, a cleaning trolley with a full laundry bag, and a tense voice bring him up short.  
'For God's sake, Castiel, don't do that. It takes too long. Look, it's simple. You fold it in half, you fold it again, then one, two, three rolls and you're done. You should know this by now.'  
Dean looks into the room. Cas is standing with his head down in front of an exasperated Hester holding a rolled-up face cloth.  
'I shouldn't have to show you this, you've been here long enough. Didn't you do this with Rachel?' Castiel responds so quietly Dean can't hear him. 'Well. I have too much to do here, I don't have time to babysit you. Here, you dust, I'll vacuum.'  
Cas raises his head and sees Dean in the doorway, and surprise registers on his face. Hester looks around. Cas looks so miserable that Dean doesn't even think about it.  
'Hester, Jo's gone home injured, can I borrow Castiel for an hour or so?'  
'He still has half a shift to finish,' Hester snarks irritably.  
'I'm sure you can handle it,' Dean says. 'You're the most experienced attendant here. C'mon. I'm desperate.' He widens his eyes and gives her the Winchester smile. She caves, grumpily.  
'Fine.' She turns to Castiel. 'When you get back, go to 160, see if any of the newer girls need help.' Castiel nods, and leaves with Dean. Dean motions for him to follow with his elbow, and when they're far enough away, he exhales.  
'Jesus, she's a piece of work, isn't she?' Cas doesn't answer and Dean turns to look over his shoulder. 'Hey.' Castiel's head is hanging down. 'Hey, what's wrong? Don't let her get to you, she's horrible to everyone. They call her Adolf Hester behind her back.' Cas lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sound of pain and Dean stops. He turns around completely to face Castiel. 'Cas. Hey,' he says again, and stops. He doesn't really know what to do. Castiel's eyes are glazed and he won't look at Dean. He's breathing too quickly. Dean feels a little overwhelmed. Everything's falling apart today. He needs to get this tray in before the guests start complaining, but something tells him this is more important. 'Wait here.' he says. 'I'll be back in a second.'  
He hightails it around the corner over the awful patterned carpet and, thankfully, sees a porter and hands him the tray. 'Can you run this down to 73? Thanks a million.' Dean dashes off before he can say anything. Dean walks back to Cas, who's still standing exactly where Dean left him, head hung low, rubbing his forehead.  
'Follow me.' He checks to see that Cas is behind him, blotchy cheeks and all. He walks back to the kitchen and through it, shaking his head warningly when Kevin opens his mouth, and leads Cas out the back, to the deserted smoking area. Cas relaxes against the wall and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths. Dean leans against the wall next to him. The bricks are warm and damp and smell like clay. There's a private sort of silence between them while Cas collects himself. They just stand in the sun, breathing in the smell of fresh air and almost-rain. Dean relaxes and lets his head fall back against the wall. He watches the sky and listens to Cas' breathing return to normal next to him. After a minute or two, he turns to Cas, who's looking at him. Dean feels winded by those eyes. The sunlight makes them brighter, somehow. Clearer. Dean feels happy and peaceful for no real reason, and he can't help smiling a little.  
Cas cocks his head to one side. 'I don't understand you.' Cas' voice is a little hoarse. Dean looks at him.  
'What do you mean?'  
'Are you always this nice to the new ones?' He sounds curious.  
Dean considers the question before answering. 'I guess not. A lot of them don't need it.'  
'You think I need it?'  
'Do you? The others usually have experience in hotels before they come here. But I don't think you do.'  
'I don't.'  
'What are you doing here, Cas?'  
He shakes his head dismally. 'It's a long story. My brother, Michael, he gave me the job. It's a pity thing. Until I can get back on my feet.'  
Dean looks at him curiously. 'So if you're not in this business, what do you do?'  
'I'm a glassblower.'  
Dean does a double-take. 'What?'  
'A glassblower. Someone who - '  
'No, I heard you, but what? I mean – what do you make? How does one...become a glassblower, exactly?'  
Cas shrugs. 'I took a course in fine art and craft in college, and glass was my favourite medium. And I invested in equipment and a studio space, and started blowing sculptural pieces, which didn't bring in a lot of money. So I branched off into boutique dishware and interior design as well.'  
'So how come you stopped?'  
Cas' face darkens. 'Like I said. Long story. I had to leave everything behind when I moved.'  
'Where did you move from?'  
'Toronto.'  
'Cas,' Dean says seriously, turning to face him. 'Can I ask you something?'  
Cas watches him warily. 'Sure.'  
'Is the milk really in bags? Seriously?'  
Cas stares at him blankly for a second, then laughs. Eyes crinkle. Dean can see his gums. It's so sudden and it changes his face completely, lighting it up from the inside. Dean's heart speeds up and beats, beats, beats against his ribs and he laughs at Cas laughing. All tension is lifted from the air.  
'I should go help Kevin. Jo really was injured.' Dean makes a mental note to call Chuck in twenty minutes to check on her. 'You don't have rooms to yourself yet, right? You're still shadowing?'  
'Yes, I am.'  
'Then stay, if you want. There are some dishes that need to be washed, and they're not urgent, so you can take your time.'  
'I don't want to be in your way.'  
'You won't be. Stay.' Dean walks back in without giving Cas time to answer.


	10. 10.

Dean is acutely conscious of Cas' presence in the kitchen for the next few hours. He and Kevin and, eventually, Chuck, bringing news of Jo's welfare, are busy and working hard to finish the main courses, then to get all the dishes clean. When Dean finally has a spare moment, he glances around for Cas, and doesn't see him. He assumes Cas went back to 160 to finish his shift or clock out. Lucky him. It's another couple of hours before everyone in the kitchen is finished, before the place begins to shut down, and Dean is left alone in the middle of a half-dark room.  
He feels antsy. He doesn't want to go home, he knows that all he'll find there is solitude and quiet so pressing that it hurts his ears. He knows he's running from something, but he's so damn terrified and moving so fast that he doesn't want to slow down even for a second to find out what it is. He turns around in the kitchen, looking for anything to fixate on, and his eyes land on cocoa powder. Why not? The apple pie went down a storm at lunch the day after he made it, and that's all the excuse Dean needs. He bustles around the kitchen, grabbing all the ingredients. The secret ingredient being blackberry jam. He measures, he weighs, he mixes, and it seems like everything narrows down into a single point. Everything in his life, everything in his mind, is quantifiable and calculated, certain. He knows that if he adds this much sugar to this much egg and whisks it over heat that it will turn into a sponge base, and no variables or emotions or tragedies can change that. He might not have a family anymore but he has this much flour and this much baking powder and a cake tin big enough to hold it, and that's all you get from life, sometimes. It's only when something falls into the half-finished frosting that Dean even realizes his eyes are wet. He stares at the tear sitting on the surface of the mixture, fighting a weird urge to laugh, and he hears a quiet knock behind him.  
He drops the bowl in shock, and thankfully it's only two inches above the counter. The clang reverberates through the kitchen and Dean turns, hurriedly wiping his eyes. Of course it would be Cas in the doorway. Whatever gods run Dean's life have an annoying sense of humour.  
'Hi,' he says, voice coming out more unsteadily than he meant it to. 'I thought everyone had gone home.'  
Cas nods and Dean knows that Cas knows that Dean doesn't want to talk about it. 'I was supposed to be off at seven, but one of the girls needed help finishing off her corridor. I think I've bleached off a layer of skin or two.' Cas looks at his hands. 'I was just leaving and...it smells delicious in here. Did I interrupt you?' He ends without voicing the implied question, and Dean answers.  
'No, you didn't. Come in if you want, it's almost done cooling.' Cas walks in and sits down on a footstool. He watches Dean from the floor. Dean picks up the bowl, resisting the urge to wipe his face again.  
'Are you making something for tomorrow?'  
'No.' Dean focuses on his frosting instead of Cas. 'Sometimes I just need to cook.'  
Cas doesn't answer. He nods and stays silent, and Dean is grateful. Cas sits on the stool and watches as Dean beats the frosting into submission, tear included, until it's perfectly smooth and the whisk stands up in the bowl when Dean lets go of it. He watches as Dean places the cooling rack on top of the cake tin and flips them both upside down, carefully teasing the tin up and off the cake. He watches as Dean spreads the icing with a spatula, each stroke perfect. Dean feels self-conscious about the faint tear tracks on his face, but he doesn't want to draw attention to them by wiping them. He does not cry. He's not that person. He fills a sieve with icing sugar and whacks the side of it with unnecessary force to dust the top of the cake.  
And then it's finished. There it is. It sits there, staring at Dean. There's nothing else for Dean to do, so he turns, rather helplessly, to Cas, who doesn't say a word.  
'Do you want some cake?'  
Cas gets up and walks over to Dean. 'Yes please.'  
'I'll get you a plate.'  
'Dean?'  
Dean feels electrified, hearing Cas say his name. 'Hm?'  
'I think this cake is too good to be eaten in a dark hotel kitchen, or a staff canteen.'  
'Oh. Do you want to take it home, or...?'  
'I actually know the perfect place. Do you want to come?'  
Dean stares. 'Of course.' He feels his face get hot. He didn't mean to sound like that. Cas doesn't seem to mind. Dean covers his embarrassment by adding the sieve to the dishwasher and starting it.  
'Okay. We can take my car.'  
'Sure.' Dean knew that it wouldn't have mattered if he had a house full of family and happy memories, he'd follow Cas anywhere. He grabs a couple of plastic forks from the shelf with room supplies. They walk outside and the night air swirls around them, the smell of rain stronger now, tinged with the scent of the flowers from the hotel garden. Dean hears Cas breathe deeply.  
'I wanted to thank you. For earlier.'  
'Don't mention it.'  
Cas winces. 'I expected this job would be difficult, but I underestimated.' They've reached the car, a beige 80's job. Dean answers as they get in.  
'Yeah, most people do. It's probably the hardest job in the hotel. Michael's your brother, right? Why did he put you on rooms? Most people have a year or two of experience in motels or something to soften the blow.'  
'Michael has a strange sense of justice.' Cas hands Dean the cake to hold on his lap.  
Dean stares at Cas, amazed. 'Wow, you must've pissed him off pretty badly.'  
Cas sighs and starts the car. 'I ignored his advice. And my parents' advice. Which he resented. Resents. I should have listened to them, they were right. But you know what it's like when you're young and stupid.'  
'What is it like when you're young and stupid?' Dean is watching Cas, who answers absentmindedly while steering out of the parking lot.  
'You fall in love with the wrong people. Make bad decisions. The usual. You know.'  
'Can't say that I do.' The night air streams past the car, the sidewalks and streetlights and buildings fading in the darkness.  
'You've never fallen for the wrong person?'  
'Define wrong.'  
Cas' face hardens. 'You'd know if it happened to you. Count yourself lucky if it hasn't.'  
'I never had much time for romance.'  
'Why not?'  
'I was busy with Sam.' Dean leans his arm on the window, and rests his jaw on his palm.  
'Sam?'  
'My brother. We only had each other when Dad died, and it's been my job to look out for him since we were kids, so I just...kept doing it. But he's at Stanford now, so...' Dean shrugs.  
Cas glances at Dean. 'You miss him.'  
'I'm happy for him. He's on his own, making something of his life.'  
'I'm sorry about your father.' Cas turns down a small dirt road and pulls in on the side. 'We're here.' He smiles at Dean and gets out of the car. Dean follows him out, carefully holding the cake.


	11. 11.

'Where's here, exactly?' Dean asks.  
Cas points at a nearby overpass. He heads up the steps and Dean follows. His boots clang on the metal slats. When they reach the top the wind swirls around them and the dark landscape rises up in the distance, cut by streaming lines of headlights. Dean's head clears.  
'Up here, somehow, it feels easier to breathe. Although that makes no sense. The air is technically thinner.' Cas sits down against the mesh barrier. Dean hands him the cake, and leans his elbows against the railing. He closes his eyes and leans his head back into the wind. His head spins. When it settles everything feels calm and still. The wind bites through his jacket. He feels free. The cars make a steady rumbling noise underneath them. After a minute or two, Dean opens his eyes. Castiel is looking at him, his eyes wide. Dean turns and slides down the barrier, sitting next to Cas, and pulls a fork out of his pocket. He hands it to Cas, who finally looks away to take it.  
'Dig in.'  
'You're not having any?'  
'No, thanks.'  
Cas cocks his head. 'Suit yourself. Are you sure it's okay if I try some?'  
'Be my guest.'  
Cas forks up a piece of the cake, taking a thin slice that goes from the top to the bottom; a perfect cross-section. Dean waits, watching, and is rewarded with a small blissful noise that sends heat to the pit of his stomach. 'This is incredible, Dean.' Cas takes another bite. 'How did you do this?'  
'I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. It's top secret. I wrote the recipe myself.' Dean is absurdly proud.  
'You're way too good for a hotel.'  
'I thought about opening a bakery, but that'll never happen.' Dean's used to people nodding understandingly at this stage. Cas blinks and takes up another forkful, but doesn't eat it.  
'Why not? What's stopping you?'  
'Starting your own business? It takes a hell of a lot of money and hard work to even begin.'  
'It doesn't really. I only had a little bit of money saved, and I rented my studio at first. You can rent shops for a good price if they're in a complex or connected to other buildings. And you can always apply for a grant or a loan if you have an acceptable business plan and some references.' Dean looks at him in surprise. 'It's not as hard as people think. Especially if you're selling something consumable and necessary, like food.'  
Dean twists himself around to look straight at Cas. 'I never seriously considered it. You know, as an actual...possibility.'  
'You're welcome.' Cas surprises Dean with his quicksand grin. Immediate and stunning and wide-open with joy. Dean feels like he's lighting up from the inside, feels like he's back in the night that he and Sam went to that field on the fourth of July and lit fireworks and sparklers. They had waved them, trailing sparks, trailing smoke, their hopes crashing behind them, their laughter drowned out by small explosions that couldn't quite reach the stars. _Dad would never let us do anything like this. Thanks, Dean. This is great._  
Dean realizes that he's staring at Cas, leaning in closer, and he snaps back to himself, pulls back. He clears his throat. Cas looks back down at the cake and takes another bite. His eyes mist over. They sit in silence for a few moments.  
'His name was Bartholomew.' Cas' voice is quiet. Dean looks at him, asking silently. 'My Young and Stupid Mistake.'  
'Oh.' A man. Dean's heart leaps and stutters. He had wondered about Cas. It was a relief to know, but his happiness is short-lived. The look on Cas' face is like hurricane shutters, locked basements, acrid fear. 'That bad?'  
Cas nods, keeps his eyes down. 'He broke two of my ribs.' He says it with a blank face, in a tone that says I'm telling you so you know but please don't ask. Dean flinches and a deeply-buried part of him fractures. This is surreal. A few weeks ago, Dean didn't know this man, and here they are, sitting on top of an overpass late at night, telling each other about ambition and broken ribs. He doesn't know what to say. I'm sorry? My dad once hit me so hard he broke my nose? There's no combination of words that could change what happened, there's no way that anything Dean could say would be anything more than a tiny butterfly stitch on broken leg, so he very slowly wraps an arm around Cas' shoulders. Cas is tense at first, staring at his feet, but as the seconds tick by, Dean feels Cas' shoulders loosening. Dean sits perfectly still and lets the weight of his arm rest fully on Cas' shoulders until Cas is completely relaxed again. Then he gives Cas' shoulders a small squeeze and lets go. His arm tingles.  
'Never met a Bartholomew I liked.'  
'How many Bartholomews have you actually met?'  
'None.'  
'I've ruined you, now you'll never like a Bartholomew.'  
'I don't mind. Never liked the name anyway. Especially the nickname. Bart. Yech.'  
Cas smiles. 'That should have tipped me off, if nothing else did. You'd want to go for someone with a more honest name.'  
'What's an honest name?'  
'Mark. Bill. George. John.'  
'My father's name was John.'  
'There, see. Was he honest?'  
'In his own way. Maybe too honest. There are some things parents shouldn't put on their kids. I kinda wish he'd lied more.'  
'What do you like about baking?'  
'What?' Dean is thrown by the abrupt change.  
'What do you like about baking?'  
'...I guess...I don't have to think about baking. I just have to follow the recipe, and if I do it correctly, everything works out. And at the end of it, you have something that other people enjoy. Something that makes them happy, something that lives up to their expectations. I don't know. What do you like about...glass...blowing?'  
Castiel thinks for a moment. 'Well. It's like handling fire. You're shaping this burning-hot lump of molten glass, and you know that it could shatter at any time, or burn you badly, but if you stick it out and try hard enough, it ends up as this beautiful thing that you shaped with only your breath.'  
'Jesus, that's fucking poetic, Cas.' Truthfully, Dean is disturbed. Cas sounds like he's describing a dangerous relationship. Which makes him wonder...exactly what do his feelings about baking say about him? He doesn't have time to consider.  
'I'm getting cold, do you want to head back? I don't think I can eat any more cake.'  
Dean nods and stands, brushing off his jeans, and Cas follows suit.  
Cas and Dean are quiet as they descend the overpass steps. When they get to the car, Cas puts on some music. Blue Oyster Cult. 'Nice,' Dean nods his approval. He and Cas grin at one another, then Cas grinds into gear and they head off back to the hotel parking lot, driving through the sparse dark. Cas pulls up next to Dean's Impala and gets out as Dean does.  
'Thank you for the cake. It was amazing. Do you...want to take it back? There's no way I could eat it all.'  
'Sure. I'll just bring it in tomorrow and leave it out for lunch.' Dean wants to thank Cas for bringing him to the overpass, but now that they're back, it feels dreamlike, and Dean doesn't want to burst that unreal bubble. 'I, uh...thank you too. For, you know.' He clears his throat and gestures randomly. 'See you tomorrow?' Cas nods and gets into the front seat. Dean lets Cas out first, watching him as he pokes his tongue through his teeth when he reverses. Dean fights a smile and waves as Cas pulls away. Cas waves back briefly, then he's gone. Dean still doesn't feel like going home. He checks the time. Is it too late to go see if Jo's okay? No, he can still show up and seem like a sane and reasonable human. He starts the car.


	12. 12.

Dean knocks on the door and waits. A few moments later Jo opens the door, tousle-haired and sleepy.  
'Dean? What is it?'  
'I came by to check on you. How's the leg?'  
'Freaking hurts.' Jo limps back to the couch, which is draped in blankets. 'I made an appointment at the hospital tomorrow.'  
'Ellen driving you?'  
'No, she's out on a job.'  
'Do you want me to?'  
Jo sizes him up, then relaxes into the couch cushions. 'Yes please,' she groans.  
'What time?'  
'Six thirty. I made it early in case they said I could go back to work.'  
'I'll pick you up at six. Now. What food do you have in this place, short stuff? You look too hobbled to feed yourself.'  
Jo laughs. 'I think there's some spaghetti in the cupboard.'  
Dean fixes them some dinner, and Jo says, in between mouthfuls of egg-yolk-coated pasta, 'Why don't you just stay here tonight, if you're going to come back at six anyway? The sofa pulls out.'  
'Thanks, Jo, but I don't have pajamas or anything.'  
'You can borrow one of my old shirts, I have a ton. Seriously. I feel bad, you were just here making me dinner, and it's a long drive back to yours.' Dean agrees. He'll feel better knowing that Jo isn't all alone here and injured on top of it, after all.  
Dean falls asleep on the sofa-bed as soon as his head hits the pillow, and feels surprisingly rested when he stretches himself awake at quarter to six. He wiggles into yesterday's uniform and snags some toast for breakfast as a sleepy-eyed Jo limps downstairs, yawning, blonde hair in tangles.  
'Well aren't you a vision,' Dean quips.  
'Shut up, you mutant, how do you even function in the morning? Coffee.'  
Dean leaves Jo standing slit-eyed and hunchbacked over the coffeepot to brush his teeth, and she's dressed and caffeinated by the time he gets back.  
'Okay, I'm ready,' she chirps.

The doctor says it's deep muscle bruising, and that Jo needs to take it easy for at least another day before she can return to work. Dean helps her back out to the car.  
'Jo, you should stay at mine until Ellen's back. You're not really in a fit state to drive yourself to work.'  
'Dean Winchester, are you coddling me?'  
'Yeah. So?'  
'I don't need coddling.'  
'Yes you do. Thank me and accept it. If you don't I'll just drive you back to my place before work anyway.'  
Jo grimaces when they reach the car and she has to sit down heavily in the passenger seat. 'Ahh. Okay.'  
'I'll swing by your house and get whatever you need for the next couple days, just text me a list.'  
So Dean drives her back to his house, sets her up on the couch with blankets, DVDs, one of those hot pad things for her leg, and snacks, and heads back out to work once Jo has assured him for the hundredth time that yes, she has everything she needs.

Dean drives to work with the windows down, the breeze ruffling his hair and clothes, one arm extended out the window. It feels good to have someone to look after again. Jo isn't Sam, but it still feels good. In fact, Dean could say that Jo is more like brother and Sam more like a sister. Dean snickers, imagining what Sam would say to that. Probably huff and give Dean bitchface #6 (Knock It Off, Asshole), or harp on about modern gender roles. All in all, Dean feels incredibly happy when he pulls up to work. He feels useful again, and that night with Cas keeps replaying in the back of his mind. He walks in with a spring in his step, and all day, his movements in the kitchen (lifting, turning, walking, kneading) feel like a dance.  
'What's up with him?' Dean hears Kevin ask Chuck, who frowns and shakes his head. Dean winks at them and bends to check the tarts in the oven once more before lunch.  
'Hey, Castiel.' Kevin says.  
'Hi.'  
Dean straightens up so fast he thinks he might have dislocated his kneecaps. Chuck sniggers. Castiel blushes and opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the rest of the attendants stream in around him for lunch, and he's carried off in the tide. Dean, Kevin, and Chuck follow, shucking their aprons. Cas is already surrounded, his table full, so Dean takes the seat directly behind Cas. If he leaned his head back, it would be resting on Cas' shoulder. He is sorely tempted. Instead, he swivels his chair a little so that he's facing out, and Castiel has room to turn slightly and join in the conversation at Dean's table. Kevin and Chuck raise their eyebrows and pointedly talk amongst themselves.   
'Hey. Busy today?' Dean could kick himself. Seriously? He couldn't think of a better conversation starter?  
Cas swallows his mouthful. 'Not too bad. Although there was a family of five. I'm told that in a hotel that's equivalent to the apocalypse.'  
Dean chuckles. 'Full of diapers? Covered in crumbs and extra towels? That doesn't sound bad, as far as apocalypses go.'  
'Really? I'd prefer fire and brimstone any day, but maybe that's because I wouldn't be responsible for cleaning it.'  
'Sounds tough.'  
'It's okay, I'm cultivating callouses.' Cas shows Dean his palm.  
Dean holds his palm up as well. 'Yeah, yours are more impressive. I'd give them a 6 out of 10.'  
'These are at least an 8. I think you're jealous.'  
Dean smirks and picks up his sandwich. 'Yeah, totally. Who wouldn't want to earn their callouses scrubbing taps?'  
'It's considered a leisure activity in Russia,' Castiel retorts, with a perfectly straight face. Dean bursts out laughing, and Chuck and Kevin stare at the two of them. Dean couldn't care less.  
'Cas thinks his job is more fun than ours.'  
'You're probably right,' Chuck tells him gloomily. 'You wouldn't believe the fruit abomination at the back of the staff fridge I found the other day.'  
Kevin sighs. 'It was obviously that bad, because we're still hearing about it.'  
Cas' eyebrows furrow, and Dean has to resist the urge to lean forward and smooth them. 'How can fruit be that bad?'  
'Trust me, man, you don't ever want to find out.'  
The rest of lunch passes with the four of them cheerfully talking nonsense, but Dean is distracted by how close Cas is. The tension is making his skin tingle, and he licks his lips and tries not to stare, tries to focus on the conversation. All he can do is wonder how hot Castiel's skin is underneath his clothes. While he studiously avoids eye contact with Cas, he can see Chuck and Kevin exchanging looks, and can tell they're going to corner him later.

He's right, of course. Lunch is barely over and Cas' back is just disappearing through the kitchen door when Chuck and Kevin converge on him.  
'Winchester, what is going on with you two?'  
'Yeah, Dean, you've been holding out on us. Details.'  
'What? With Cas? No. No, nothing's going on.' Skeptical silence. 'Seriously! Nothing!'  
'Dean, you call him Cas.'  
'And you look at him like he's food.'  
'Ew.'  
'Well, it's true.'  
'What are you two, the freaking Spanish inquisition? Don't you have work to do? Get!'


	13. 13.

The next day, Jo comes in to work with Dean. They goof off in the car, and are still shoving each other when they reach the doors.  
'Ah, no, I am letting you do that, because I feel bad that you're still limping like a pirate.'  
'Keep telling yourself that, hon.'  
Dean half turns to reply jokingly and sees Cas a few metres behind them, looking awkward. 'Hey, Cas! Can I talk to you for a sec?' He waits for Cas to catch up, and points over his shoulder at Jo. 'When we get home we're going to settle this once and for all, Cinderella.'  
'Can't wait. Princess or not I'll whoop your ass.' Jo disappears laughing into the kitchen, pulling on her apron. Castiel catches up to Dean, but doesn't meet Dean's eyes.  
'Hello, Dean.'  
'Hi,' Dean smiles. 'I was just thinking. If you wanted, I could have a word with Naomi, and try to get her to reassign you to one of the other attendants. One that doesn't resemble a dictator. She owes me one for working all those last-minute double shifts.'  
Cas shifts uncomfortably. 'Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I'll only be shadowing Hester for a few more days.'  
'Oh, okay. Well, that's a relief, right?'  
'Yes. Sorry, I should run. I have to clock in.' And then he practically flees, and Dean is left feeling puzzled. Was it something he said?

For the next week or so, Cas seems to be avoiding Dean. He won't meet Dean's eyes, and he comes in late to lunch and sits away from Dean, Jo, Chuck, and Kevin. Dean's puzzled, and something inside him feels sore and bruised, but he doesn't like to think about it. He doesn't pursue Cas, or bother him. He's not one to force his company on people who don't want it. He throws himself into taking care of Jo for a few days, but when Ellen returns and Jo goes home, Dean has nothing to focus on. He goes for long walks at night, alone in the dark and clear air, trying to shake off his frustration and disappointment. He calls Sam a couple times just to check up on him, he organizes a visit to Bobby's, he goes grocery shopping, he goes to work, he cleans his place, he looks up small business loans and how to write a business plan and none of it means anything. Exactly what is he doing it all _for_?  
That is exactly the question running through his mind on repeat like a broken record on Saturday night. He's closing up and for once doesn't have the compulsion to bake. Instead, he's frowning at a box of slightly stale bread rolls and pastries that are going to be thrown out. What is he doing it all for? Exactly who is he helping? Nobody. His life is just him, and he isn't enough. He feels like a selfish bastard. And then a little voice in the back of his mind whispers, 'What's stopping you from helping people, Dean?' His eyes focus on the bread and he thinks of the homeless shelter downtown. What is stopping him? He doesn't hesitate, he hoists the pallet of bread into his arms and takes it out to the car. He wedges the pallet into the backseat, nudging some of the rolls near the edge. He manages to tilt the pallet slightly so that one of the corners is jammed up against the passenger seat, so it won't shift around. Satisfied, Dean slams the door and makes his way across the graveled parking lot to turn off the lights and lock up.  
Dean glances once around the kitchen and is just reaching for the light switches when Cas walks in, heading for the door. He looks terrible; he's hunched, walking like a zombie, and his eyes are bloodshot. Dean's hand hits the switch before that registers and Cas yelps. Oops, shit. He turns the lights back on.  
'Sorry! You surprised me.'  
Cas' eyes are wide and he looks wildly around the kitchen before he sees Dean. He lets out a shaky breath, hand over his heart. What is he wearing? It's an oversized beige trench coat over his uniform. It makes him look adorably rumpled. The hair doesn't help. Dean wonders how anyone could resist that gloriously sexed-out bedhead, and those huge wide eyes.  
'Sorry.' Dean says again, and tilts his head. There's an awkward silence. He doesn't know what to say. Fuck it. He's never been one for beating around the bush. Sam calls him tactless. 'You been avoiding me, Cas?'  
'What? No.' Cas looks startled at Dean's frank question.  
'Did I offend you? Or something?'  
'No! Not at all.' Cas slumps against a counter and sort of deflates. 'I'm sorry.' He runs a hand through his hair and chews his bottom lip. He opens his mouth and closes it again, then says, 'It's not you, not at all. I've been out of sorts.'  
Who says things like 'out of sorts?' The corners of Dean's lips twitch. The bruised place in his chest feels sore. 'What are you doing here so late, anyway?'  
Cas looks at him and smiles weakly. 'I might ask you the same thing.'  
'I'm always here late. I'm one of the only ones with the keys. You headed home?'  
'Yes. I can't wait to fall into bed.' Dean tries not to project himself into that mental image as heat creeps up his face. 'How about you?' Cas asks.  
'Oh. Uh, no. I have a backseat full of bread. I'm about to take it to the shelter downtown. Thinking about it, actually, I don't know how to get there. Should've thought that through.'  
'I do.' Cas looks uncomfortable, like he's steeling himself for something. 'I could show you, if you want.'  
'Wha- are you sure? I mean, I have GPS on my phone. Don't want to keep you from your beauty sleep.'  
'That's okay, I don't mind.'  
Dean doesn't argue. If he's honest with himself, he really doesn't want Cas to change his mind, even if Cas is sleep-deprived. 'That'd be great. Are you feeling alright?'  
Castiel sighs and runs a hand through his hair before replying. 'Just tired.' Dean gives him a look. 'You're right. No, I'm not feeling very well.'  
Dean starts to walk towards the door, hitting the lights. He turns his head to look over his shoulder and beckons. 'You can tell me about it on the drive over.'  
'Thank you, but there's nothing to tell.' Dean scrutinizes him as they walk to the car but doesn't push it. Everyone has things they don't want to think about, places in their minds they never want to go. Cas gives him an exhausted smile and climbs into the passenger seat.


	14. 14.

Twenty minutes later and they're hopelessly lost. There's some sort of stadium on one side of the road, litter-strewn housing estates on the other, and a 24-hour Gas n Sip with half of its lit-up letters burnt out. Cas is squinting around for street signs and Dean is trying very hard not to laugh.  
'I think we may need to turn left somewhere up here.'  
'Cas, let's just pull over and ask someone. Hang on, I'm going to park here.'  
Cas sighs and slumps against the seat. 'I apologize. It's different when you're walking.'  
'Don't worry about it! Happens all the time.' Dean maneuvers into a small parking space in front of the Gas n Sip and turns the car off. 'Come on, it'll be an adventure.' He and Cas leave the car, and Dean surreptitiously locks it before they walk in through the front door. The lights flicker and the cashier - a bored-looking teenager chewing gum in an obscenely exaggerated manner - looks up.  
'Help you?' he drawls. He has dirt under his fingernails.  
'We're looking for the homeless shelter.'  
The kid's eyebrows shoot up into his ragged hairline. 'Uh. It's down that way.' He points. 'Take the second left and then a right, and it should be around there.'  
'Thanks,' Dean says, and grabs some licorice.  
'Three fifty.'  
They pay up and head back out to the car. Dean offers Cas some licorice. Cas accepts and Dean watches his chapped lips close around the candy. Dean tries not to imagine what Cas' tongue is doing. He mentally shakes himself. 'It's close enough, do you want to walk the rest of the way?'  
'Yes.'  
Dean pushes and Cas pulls and together they jimmy the pallet and manage to get it out of the car and balanced between them. They walk down the street, not talking much, concentrating on balancing the mountain of bread they're holding. Dean feels something building in the air. He's not sure what it is but it's a delicious kind of tension and Dean feels the night open up around them. Breezes ruffle their shirts and cars swish by, music blares from one of the housing complexes, weeds flare up and loom at the edges of the sidewalk. It smells like sweet smoke and grit and opportunity. They can barely see but for the occasional streetlight. The sky is flushed a dark, deep purple, clouds like bruises scud along the horizon. Dean has a sudden craving for a cigarette, a wish to be speeding in a car with drunken strangers and no destination. Something destructive, something to grit his teeth to.  
When they eventually make it to the shelter, it's – just their luck – closed. They put the pallet down when Dean gives in and starts laughing. Cas clenches his jaw and thumps the door. 'I can't believe it. And if I hadn't gotten us lost, we might have made it on time. I apologize.'  
'Seriously, Cas,' Dean leans against the wall and tries to catch his breath, 'it's okay. I'm glad you came with. It's so - ' And he dissolves into laughter again. 'Ridiculous,' he finally chokes out, and smacks his fist into the wall. 'Oh my god. What are we going to do with – with – all this BREAD?!' He wheezes with laughter and struggles to hold himself up against the wall, tears leaking from his eyes. He thinks he hears Cas laughing too. He tries to stop and take deep breaths, feeling a tinge of hysteria that resembles something much, much darker down there using the cover of his uncontrollable laughter to sneak up his throat. He gasps in air and winds himself down, wiping his eyes. Then he sees that Cas is shaking with silent laughter and that's it, he's gone, his ribs are aching and he's laughing so hard he thinks he really might burst blood vessels.  
Through the haze of his own delirious laughter, Dean hears someone speaking in a gravelly voice. He hiccups and tries to suppress his laughter and focus. There are a couple of bearded men in dirty, patched coats speaking to them. 'Is this your bread? Were you dropping it off?'  
Dean nods and swallows his laughter as best he can. 'Yes. Sorry, yes. Do you – Do you want it?' He sees Cas trying to calm himself down.  
'Yeah, man, is that okay? Thank you.'  
'No problem. It's all yours. You have a good night.' Cas nods beside him. Dean very carefully avoids looking at Cas while the men hoist the pallet and walk away. He feels the corners of his lips twitching again.

'Dean, I think we should do that with all the leftovers. Those men were very pleased.' They're sitting in the hotel parking lot next to Cas' car and Dean is trying to focus and not to lose himself in thoughts of exactly what Cas' lips might taste like. He clears his throat. 'Sure, it's a date.' Cas looks away. Dean feels like a complete idiot. 'I didn't mean – Obviously, I don't want to – Unless you? Want to? I mean,' Dean rubs his face and bites the bullet. 'Do you want to come over for a drink? Or get coffee sometime?' What on earth is he even talking about? He hasn't been this nervous asking someone out since Rhonda Hurley, and that was when he was barely legal. He feels like he's walking a tightrope over a shark pit. Everything is tenuous, precarious, and he's having a hard time remembering to breathe. He glances over at Cas, whose face is drawn.  
'I couldn't do that, in all good conscience, Dean.' Dean's heart sinks and he has no idea how to salvage this. 'I don't know Jo very well, but she seems like a nice person, and I think she deserves better.'  
'Wait, what?' Dean is confused. More than confused. 'What does this have to do with Jo?'  
Now Cas looks confused. 'Aren't you and she - ?'  
Dean is horrified. 'No! God no. Why would you think that? She's like a sister to me.'  
'But the two of you came in together the other day and – don't you live with her?'  
It clicks. That explains everything. 'No, no. No. She stayed with me for a few days when she messed up her leg, yeah, but that's all.' So that's why Cas was avoiding him. It takes a second for that to sink in, and a warm glow starts to build in Dean's chest. Cas looks relieved, and Dean grins rakishly at him. 'Is that why you didn't talk to me for a week?'  
Cas fixes him with a wide-open stare. 'I was trying not to complicate things.' There's a pause. 'I would love to come over for a drink.'  
Dean feels something inside him inflating, some half-dead hopeful part of him. 'In that case, I'm free now.'  
Cas looks surprised for a moment, then smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners.


	15. 15.

_Dean slams Cas against the wall and hungrily presses himself into Cas' warm, slight body, every inch seeking contact. Cas whimpers into Dean's insistent mouth and his hands pull hopelessly at Dean's clothes, fingers leaving swollen trails of heat on Dean's skin. Dean clutches the back of Cas' head and kisses him hard, nips his lower lip, and pulls Cas' hair back to expose his neck. Cas growls and arches out into Dean, pulling Dean's mouth to the stubbled animal-sex-scented place where his jaw meets his throat._

'Dean?'  
'Huh?' Dean shakes himself out of the daydream and realizes he's been staring at Cas' bitten lips, and is half-hard in his jeans.  
'I asked if you wanted a refill,' Cas asks over the sounds of 'Armed and Dangerous' on cable. He gives his lowball a little shake and gestures to the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.  
'Oh. Yeah. I should be offering you a refill, you're the guest.'  
Cas laughs and fills Dean's glass, waving off his protests before handing it back.  
'Thanks,' Dean says, his voice husky. He clears his throat and takes the glass, his fingers brushing Cas'.  
'No problem,' Cas answers, turning back to the film, but not before Dean sees him blush. Dean tries to bite down his smile. He takes a sip, lets the whiskey burn his throat, and tries to pay attention to the film instead of focusing on the smooth bulk of Cas' arms draped over his furniture. He's having a hard time keeping his eyes forward. He's not quite sure what's going on in this movie, he's been zoning out or talking to Cas for most of it, and now there's just this freeway full of stalled traffic, and the driver of this truck starts plowing through it. Dean winces at the sound of metal on metal. The car are being bulldozed, crashed into, crushed. It's supposed to be funny. But that sound. Dean can feel his heart speeding up. His palms are starting to sweat.  
Dean won't go there, he won't. He can't catch his breath. He looks around, but there's nothing to distract him. He exhales and rubs his leg with his free hand. He sees hospital tile. He can smell the disinfectant. He throws back the rest of his whiskey and his throat aches. Windows shattering. Metal groaning. His father's head snapping back. He squeezes his eyes shut. He needs a recipe, something to do. Beat two eggs. Mix in oil and milk. Beat until it's smooth. Whisk in brown sugar.  
'Dean? Are you alright?'  
Sift the flour and baking powder together, throw in a pinch of salt.  
'Dean?'  
Add pecans and mix the wet and dry ingredients. Stir roughly. Breathe.  
'Yeah. Yeah, sorry, Cas. What?'  
'Are you okay?' Dean opens his eyes, feeling short of breath. Cas looks alarmed. Dean gives his head a little shake and exhales. He smiles weakly. Cas frowns at him. 'Do you need me to get you anything?'  
'No, I'm fine, really. Just don't...like....' He gestures at the TV. There was probably a better way to phrase that but the whiskey has gone to his head. 'The cars crashing. My dad - ' He looks away from Cas' too-steady stare.  
'I know.'  
'What?' Dean looks back at Cas, but can't hold his gaze. Cas' eyes are headlights, Dean is the hapless crossing animal.  
'Jo told me. I'm sorry. For what it's worth.'  
Dean stares at the crack in the couch cushions, trying to steady his breathing and wipe the smell of burning tires from his mind. And then, all of a sudden, Cas is close, his breath on Dean's cheek smelling like whiskey and lemon, and Dean is turning his head and their lips are meeting. Then Dean's brain turns off and he loses himself in the sweetness of kissing Cas, the warmth, the tingle, the movement of dry lips against his own, the stubble pressing into his chin, the way Cas' eyelids look when they're closed and fluttering, the taste of whiskey on Cas' tongue. He doesn't even notice that the two of them have shifted closer to one another until their legs are pressed together and Cas' hands are wrapped around the back of his neck. Dean turns his body at an angle, pressing Cas back into the couch, and kisses him fervently, one hand holding Cas' hip, the other wedged against the cushions. This must be what religious passion feels like, Dean thinks, but instead of swimming in holy fury, Dean and Cas are immersed in electricity, the hum of it. The moment hangs, fragile like spun glass. Dean feels Cas in every cell of his body. When they finally break apart, gasping quietly for breath, Dean is shaking. Cas looks at him with wide eyes and Dean is absurdly turned on by Cas' heavy breathing. He feels like he might scream or cry. So he does the only thing that makes sense and kisses Cas again.


	16. 16.

Dean smiles most of the time now. Kevin and Chuck are astonished, Jo is happy for him. Dean's days are softer, somehow, easier, and Cas spends a lot of time learning to cook at Dean's house after work. Cas says living with Michael until he gets back on his feet is not so much a lucky break as it is incentive to get his own place ASAP. He never stays over at Dean's and Dean never minds. It's enough that Cas is there, that Dean is able to discover him, one conversation at a time. They talk at work, in pubs after work, in coffee shops, on weekend trips around town trying to find someplace cheap enough for Cas to rent. Dean teaches Cas how to cook and makes him listen to Led Zeppelin. Cas tells Dean about books he likes and different places he's traveled to. They haven't kissed since the first time. Dean wistfully wonders why, but he doesn't ask. Aside from the constant urge to press himself into the other man and lick his chapped lips, Dean enjoys their time together the way he enjoys croissookies; he craves them, he loses himself in their flavour, he expects nothing more of them. Perk: Cas probably won't kill him with diabetes. Sam notices Dean's happiness over the phone, but he doesn't ask. Dean can hear a smile in Sam's voice after Dean mentions that Cas found a place to live; a tiny flat on top of an empty shop that Cas can use as studio space as soon as his equipment gets shipped over. Dean and Cas exchange numbers and text a lot. Dean sends Cas shitty pictures taken on his phone and bad puns and Cas sends back strings of emoticons and dry comments. Dean sets his notification tone to the sting from the old Batman series, and every time Cas texts him he chuckles.

And that's why Sam gives him bitchface #4 (Dude. Seriously?) across the paperwork spread over Bobby's kitchen table. 'Dean, can't you put it on silent? This is important.' Dean takes a sip of his beer and ignores Sam in favour of reading Cas' text.

_**This fortune cookie says 'a tub and a rub will change your day.' I think I will follow its advice. ;)** _

Dean chokes on a sudden laugh and only just manages not to spray beer all over the table. Sam clears his throat and cocks his head at Dean, raising his eyebrows. Dean, still smiling, puts the phone down and adopts a mock-serious expression. He looks expectantly at Sam. Sam narrows his eyes and shoves a page across the table. 'Any good business plan starts with a unique idea, so try thinking about what makes you different. What sets you apart from other businesses like yours?' Dean looks down at the sheet of paper, which is full of bullet points and tables.  
'My charisma,' Dean deadpans as Bobby walks in.  
'Ain't you two finished yet?' Bobby grabs a beer and cracks it open.  
'We WOULD be, if Dean could concentrate long enough.' To illustrate his point, Dean's phone goes off again. Dean dives for it. He can feel Bobby and Sam exchanging a look over his head.

_**This is very pleasant. Wish you were here. I have news for you when you get back.** _

Dean feels a blush creeping up the back of his neck. He clears his throat and looks up. 'What?' He can't keep the defensive note from his voice. Bobby abruptly turns and busies himself with the dishes. Sam bites back a smile. 'You also need a list of your costs and an estimate for when it all will have paid for itself and can start making money. That means research.'

When Bobby hugs Dean goodbye, after Sam has gone back in the house, he says, 'See you soon, Dean. And next time, I want to meet him. No arguments.'  
'You and Sam gossip like old ladies.'  
'I'm not an idiot, Dean. I know that look.'  
Dean squirms. 'I don't have a _look_.'  
'You've got a look if I say you've got a look. Now git. And pick up the phone sometime, it won't bite.'  
Dean smiles. 'Yes, _sir_.' He throws his duffel bag (which now contains a business plan – mostly written by a micro-managing Samsquatch) over his shoulder and walks out to the car.


	17. 17.

When Dean pulls into his driveway, he calls Cas.  
'Hello?'  
'Hey, it's me. What's the word, Cas?'  
'It's a shortened version of my name.'  
'Ha ha. But really, what's new in the Life of Castiel?'  
'My equipment will be arriving day after tomorrow. I'll be able to start up my studio again.'  
'That's great!'  
'I was wondering if you'd help me move some of it in. It is quite heavy.'  
'So not all good news and rainbows and unicorns, then.'  
'I'll give you the first piece I make in the new studio.'  
'As a responsible citizen I'm all in favour of bribery but, uh, you don't have to. Happy to help.'  
'Thank you, Dean.'  
'Anything for you, Cas.' Dean hides the small truth behind insouciance.  
'...thank you, Dean.' Cas pretends he doesn't see through it like glass and Dean pretends not to hear the smile in Cas' voice.  
Dean hangs up before it all gets too sincere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved the sass of the 'It's a shortened version of my name' line, and I just HAD to put it in!


	18. 18.

Two days later, as he drives to the address Cas texted him, Dean rolls the windows down and takes stock of the scenery. The world is on the verge of summer, the trees look greener, and the spring flowers are dying back to make room for the furious blooming season ahead. Dean watches the neighbourhoods change: The buildings shrink, the streets gain character, the windows sprout window boxes, the chain stores disappear and are replaced with smaller, friendlier shops.  
Dean sees the moving van from a block away. The back is open and a crew of movers are gradually emptying the contents into a compact little two-story townhouse unit with a big shopfront window. He pulls in and parks at the front of the shop, behind the van, careful to leave enough space for unloading. The movers glance over at Dean as Cas emerges from the shop looking excited.  
'Started the party without me?' Dean gives Cas a quick back-thumping hug.  
'Only just. The movers can get the furnaces, but we can take in the smaller stuff.'  
Dean and Cas, chatting and ribbing each other, work together to bring in a lot of equipment that, frankly, mystifies Dean. There are a lot of long metal rods and bags of what looks like sand. Sweat dripping between his shoulder blades, Dean bends over to grab a mid-size machine that looks like a kiln. Before he can lift it, Cas appears and hoists the other end. 'Got it?'  
'Yeah.'  
They walk slowly down the ramp, Dean backwards, Cas forwards, and into the shop. Dean is distracted on both sides: he looks behind him to see where he's going, he looks in front to see Cas sweaty, sleeves rolled up, hair even more mussed than usual. 'Not going to lie, Cas, those metal rods would make for a fantastic swordfight.'  
'The pontils? Or the blowpipes?'  
Dean sniggers. 'Blowpipes?'  
Cas rolls his eyes. 'Get your mind out of the gutter.'  
'Hey Cas.'  
'Hm?'  
'Were those bags of sand I was carrying before?'  
Cas smiles. 'Yes. It's the main ingredient in glass.'  
'Oh yeah. Like when lightning hits a beach.' Duh. Dean thinks that if he had to compare them, Cas would be the gathering storm and Dean would be the waiting shore.  
'Exactly. Glassblowing is just a slower version of the process. It gives you more control. Some might argue that less control makes for more interesting pieces. Frozen lightning is beautiful, but I prefer usefulness to aesthetic.'  
'Brains over beauty, huh? Well, can't argue there. Where do you want this?'  
'In that supply closet. I left the door open.'  
Dean cranes his neck and they make their way through the heavy wooden door. They put the machine down on top of a stack of boxes and Dean wipes sweat from his brow. Cas' eyes track the movement. There's a forcefulness there that Dean hasn't seen before. It seems to occur to both of them simultaneously that they're alone in a small room. Their breath mixes in the air, and Dean feels slightly dizzy. Cas takes a step forward; he reaches out and wipes a drop of sweat from Dean's temple. Electricity crackles. Dean lifts a tentative hand and slowly runs it along Cas' arm. Cas' skin is cool and soothing against Dean's palm. Is it just him or are Cas' eyes about four shades darker than they usually are?  
A sharp noise splits the air and Dean and Cas both jump a little, drop their hands. A bearded face peers around the door. 'Scuse me, but where should we put this furnace?'


	19. 19.

Dean is in a car. A shadowy figure is driving and talking to him, but the words are muffled, as if Dean is underwater. The road ahead is far too dark and the corners are too sharp. Dean can feel some sort of presence in the backseat but he wants to avoid looking at it. It makes him feel sick with apprehension. The car begins to expand around them, and soon the sides of the car are all stretched thin. Thorny branches scratch at the doors and windows until Dean can feel sharp points pushing through the membrane. He hears Castiel cry out somewhere and looks around in alarm. Cas is on the ground outside, writhing in pain. His limbs thrash. His eyes are wild. Dean tries to call out to him, tries to break a window to reach him, but the air is thick and slow and his words are lost. The window doesn't give. The shadowy figure who was driving is picking Cas up and swinging him over his back in a fireman's lift.

Dean is in a clearing in the woods. It's dusk, the last light sliding down to the horizon. Trees hang overhead like stretching arms. He is alone but for an old rusted gas stove. 'Hello?' he calls. As soon as he speaks, he knows he shouldn't have. Misery overwhelms him. His heart is breaking, breaking, breaking in his chest. He crumples and clutches the stove-top to keep from falling. Birds erupt from the trees. The only thing that is real through the pain is Dean's hand flat against a burner. He pushes himself up and knows he must keep his hand on the stove at all costs. His heart wrenching, he opens his eyes. His father stands in front of him, hand hovering over the stove's igniter. Sparks swirls around them. Birds are still pouring from the trees and into the great bowl of the sky. Dean can't straighten up, can't stop the waves of sadness that are crippling him. He stares at his father and waits to burn.

He wakes up with a low, hoarse shout.

He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, splashes water on his face, and pretends not to notice the tremors in his hands.


	20. 20.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the worst it gets for Dean, promise. It's the rock-bottom bit, and it all goes up from here. =]

The dream hangs over Dean and his hands won't stop shaking. He goes to work early and ends up burning the morning's breakfast pastries.  
'Shit!' He rips the oven door open to be greeted by clouds of black smoke and the smell of burning. He swears again and pulls out tray after tray of hard black croissants. He leans over the counter and rubs his hand over the bottom half of his face. Fuck. They're going to have to use frozen rolls and everyone is going to be rushing for at least an hour to cover his stupid mistake. His knees feel weak, his skin feels too tight. The rest of the staff begins to trickle into the kitchen. They cough and wave at the air.  
'Dean?' Jo's voice cuts through the babble. 'God, are you okay? Is something on fire?'  
Dean turns, jaw set, gesturing at the blackened trays. 'I burned the damn breakfast.' A hot spike of anger rises in his throat. He feels like kicking himself.  
Kevin hangs warily behind Jo. Jo inhales sharply. 'That's fine. We can salvage this. We have time.' She looks around as if a fresh batch will appear on a counter.  
'It's my fault. I'll go grab some of the frozen baguettes.'  
'It's not your fault, Dean, accidents happen. It's no big.'  
'Yeah. Right.'  
Dean leaves for the walk-in. He hears Jo tell Kevin to try to scrub the trays. Dean knows he must look furious and red-eyed, because Jo would usually joke around and laugh it off. Right now everyone in the kitchen is looking at him as if he might grow claws and spit fire.

Dean gets progressively worse all day. It's as if he's moving in slow motion, watching himself do everything wrong, but he's powerless to change it. Mistake after mistake, delay after delay. He can feel it all building up behind his eyes as a stabbing headache. It's the usual panic he gets himself into, but it's coming on slowly. Dean can't stop thinking of his father's face in the dream; slightly blurred, vague, as if Dean is forgetting what he looked like.  
The metal clanging of the kitchen usually drives all other thoughts from his head but now the noise reverberates through his bones, making him grit his teeth. He thinks of windshields shattering. His father's head snapping back. A seat belt tightens against his windpipe. He feels like he's choking. The kitchen air feels thin.  
He keeps his eyes on the ground and walks as calmly as he can out of the kitchen. Halfway to the bathroom his vision begins to darken around the edges. His breathing is fast and erratic and he knows that can't be right. He stumbles into the custodial closet and holds onto the wall, trying not to sink to the floor. Their car crashed. The metal was twisted. His breaths are high and gasping and his heart is racing furiously in his chest. His legs buckle. He curls in on himself, wraps his arms around his chest, tries to remember how to be normal. HOW TO BE NORMAL. He sees the words in all capitals. The smell of burning metal. His lungs are seizing, his hands and feet are tingling from lack of oxygen, his breath is being ripped from him. Dean's father's face swims in front of him. Blurry. Vague. Vague. Blurry. And then. He sees it as clear as day. His father. John Winchester smiles and reaches for Dean, his expression clearing, then contorting. He yells as the car hits them. 'Dean!' Something hits him. His face stings. He sees Jo's earlier words. They hover in his vision. IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT, DEAN, ACCIDENTS HAPPEN.  
'Dean!'  
Someone slaps him. Air rushes into Dean's lungs. IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT.  
His father's eyes are blue. Blue? ACCIDENTS HAPPEN.  
Someone slaps him again. Another huge breath. Dean is in a closet. There is a mop. Dean looks at the mop. Dean's lungs seem to gain control. His breathing slows. There are shelves. Dean breathes. His father is Castiel, kneeling on the floor of the closet. Dean is on his knees with his arms wrapped around himself. The door is ajar. Cas is staring at him. He stares back. Reality returns.  
Dean looks at his arms. NOT YOUR FAULT. ACCIDENTS HAPPEN. He looks up at Cas. Cas, who just saw Dean having a complete full-on out-of-control panic attack. Cas, who just saw a version of Dean that is not Dean. Cas, who is rearing back to hit him again.  
'Whoa! Whoa, no! No, I'm good!' Dean lifts his arm to block. 'Seriously.' He clears his throat. It feels like he swallowed a pound of cotton balls. 'No need to whale on me, Cas.'  
Cas visibly relaxes. 'Dean!' He sounds angry. 'What's going on?'  
Dean clears his throat again and tries to stand. Cas grabs his arm and keeps him from rising. It's just as well, Dean doesn't think his legs could hold him. 'You look worried, Cas.' Dean tries to smile.  
'Well, I did wonder if you were panicking or going into anaphylactic shock.' Dean looks at him blankly. 'Severe allergic reaction,' Cas clarifies.  
'Ah. Well, no. No, I'm good.'  
'So you've said. Should I call someone?'  
'No, no. Just...I'm gonna sit for a minute.'  
Cas sits down beside him. 'What's your fault?'  
Dean's head swims, shocked. 'What?'  
'You said something was your fault.'  
Dean closes his eyes and leans his head back. 'Dad's car accident. I distracted him. Wrong place, wrong time kinda thing. If I had been driving, it would've been me instead.' He keeps his eyes closed, as if the darkness was a safety blanket. 'I'm a bad luck charm, Cas.'  
Cas' hand is warm when it finds Dean's. 'That's not true. That's not really even possible.'  
Dean huffs a surprised laugh and looks at Cas. He waits, expecting to recoil from the pity in Cas' eyes, but he doesn't find any. Cas is staring at him intently and the burn of his gaze is a relief to Dean. There's nothing there but strength and thoughtfulness. Dean can't look away. He knows it's all wrong – they're sitting on the floor in a closet, Dean is shaky from a panic attack, his face still burns where Cas slapped the air back into him – but he also knows that the wrongness of it all isn't enough to stop him. Things don't always line up perfectly like ingredients in a recipe. Not all lives can be a series of events that come one after the other like beads on a string. Sometimes life hands you a fistful of madness and a fistful of joy together, and you take them both because that's all you can do in a world where madness and joy are too often two sides of the same coin. So when Dean leans forward and kisses Cas with all the strength he has left, he doesn't know if it's madness or joy. Or both. When Cas breathes a noise into his mouth and kisses him back, though, he thinks he might be figuring it out.


	21. 21.

Cas eventually pulls back ( _no no what are you doing come back_ ) and says 'I need to return to work. Maybe you should go home, Dean, and take care of yourself.'  
Dean doesn't want to change the subject. He wants to keep kissing Cas for as long as Cas will let him, until he figures out where they stand. 'I'm fine. I have to try to clean up the mess I made of the day.'  
Cas narrows his eyes slightly and adds, 'You'd do more harm than good at this point.'  
'Tell us what you really think, Cas.' Dean is exasperated, mostly because he knows Cas is right. 'Fine. I'll see if they can call in one of the part-time workers.'  
Dean calls in that favour from Naomi and goes home after lunch. He claims sickness, and he must still look awful because Naomi takes a step or two back and says, 'If you must. Let me know tonight if you think you won't be able to work tomorrow.' Dean agrees, privately thinking that he'd rather eat dirt than stay home alone in the silence of an empty house for longer than he has to.

When he gets home he takes a long hot shower, then changes into a loose shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants. He settles on the couch with a grilled cheese and his laptop and pulls up some old _Three Stooges_ shorts. He doesn't laugh like he usually does, but it keeps him from thinking too much. As the room gets darker, he gets up to turn on the lights, but he's pulled up short by a knock. Confused, Dean opens the front door to find Cas and Jo on the doorstep with grocery bags.  
'We thought you might need babying,' Jo grins, and she lugs her bags into the kitchen, past a rather stunned Dean.  
'And we brought pie,' adds Cas, smiling.  
Dean's throat is doing something strange (Happy or sad? Dean can't tell.) and he can't quite speak for a moment. 'Come in,' he finally chokes out, and Cas steps inside. He kicks the door closed behind him and looks at Dean.  
'We're not intruding, are we? I called you but you didn't answer.'  
'No, not at all. My phone's upstairs somewhere. You want a hand with those?'  
'No, thank you. I have them.' Cas hauls his bags after Jo.  
Dean turns on some lights and joins them in the kitchen. Jo is unpacking vegetables, stock cubes, pasta, and chicken from her bags, and Cas is rooting around through Dean's cupboards.  
'Are you feeling any better?' Jo asks. Castiel cranes his neck to see Dean's reaction.  
'I'm fine. I'm golden. What are we making?'  
'Not you, hon, you get to go watch bad TV while we make you some dinner.'  
'Jo, I - '  
'She's right, Dean. You need to rest.'   
Jo looks back and forth between them. Dean wants very much to listen to Cas, and he's really too tired to pretend otherwise in front of Jo.  
'Alright.' He waves his hand and turns to go, but not before he sees Jo raise her eyebrows in a mix of approval and disbelief. Cas has already turned back to the cupboard. Dean grabs a knitted blanket from the back of his armchair and curls up on the couch. He listens to the sounds in the kitchen, a soothing low hum of voices and movement. He hears a clatter and smiles to himself at the thought of Cas and Jo putting all of his kitchenware away in the wrong places. He dozes off and doesn't dream.


	22. 22.

When he wakes, it's with a start. Cas is watching him from the armchair in the corner. Dean sits up slightly and inhales. Something smells delicious. 'You watching me sleep, Cas?'  
'I didn't want to wake you.'  
'Cas, man, that's just creepy. What smells so good? What time is it?'  
Cas looks like he's suppressing a smile. 'Jo and I made you chicken soup with pasta and garlic bread. Well, Jo did most of it. I helped. And it's late.'  
Dean groans delightedly at the mention of garlic bread and his stomach grumbles in agreement. 'Did Jo reorganize my kitchen? Where is she?'  
'She had to go home, so I said I'd stay and make sure you were alright. She told me to force-feed you if necessary.'  
'She would say that.' Dean kicks off his blanket. 'But let's avoid the whole mama-bird thing. I'm starving.'  
Cas unwinds himself from the chair and stretches. 'I'll bring you a bowl.' He walks to the kitchen, and Dean is hypnotized by the view for a moment. Nice. Then he shakes himself. Cas sticks his head out of the kitchen and points a ladle at Dean. 'Don't move. Your job is to relax.'  
Cas brings him out a bowl of steaming soup and a small plate of garlic bread. Dean scoots over on the couch so Cas can sit down. 'You want some?' Dean asks with his mouth already full.  
Cas shakes his head. 'I ate while you slept. Jo is a sensational cook.'  
Dean nods emphatically and makes thoroughly inappropriate noises around the garlic bread. He blisses out over the soup, too, and when Castiel brings out a slice of cherry pie, Dean is ready to sing a hallelujah chorus. Cas reaches over with a fork and takes a bite of Dean's pie, and Dean has to force himself not to jab Cas' hand. Or growl. Cas notices Dean's aborted movement and grins.  
'There is a whole entire pie in the kitchen, you know.'  
Dean's silence would be dignified if not for his sheepish expression. Cas' eyes crinkle up in silent laughter. The room feels warmer, brighter. It's been too long, Dean thinks. Even a day, an hour, a minute is too long. Dean desperately wants Cas to stay. So he brings out a toothbrush and a set of old comfortable clothes for Cas without asking. Cas doesn't respond, just smiles and leaves to change. Dean is thrilled, and takes advantage of Cas' absence, surreptitiously loading the dishwasher and texting Naomi to say he'll be in tomorrow morning. When Cas plods back in sock feet, Dean feels himself soften. Dean's pajamas are too big for Cas and Cas' hair looks even more unruly than usual.  
'Thank you,' says Cas, yawning, 'I really didn't want to drive back to Michael's.'  
'Anytime.' Dean pauses. 'Really. I mean that. Uh, do you need anything else?'  
'No. I'm so tired I could fall over. I'm ready to sleep.' Cas sits down on the couch.  
'Take the bed, Cas. I can sleep on the couch. I'm used to it.'  
'Absolutely not. I don't wish to put you out, Dean.'

Dean shoves the pile of pages off his bed. SHOP FOR RENT, FITTED KITCHEN. UNIT AVAILABLE FOR RENT. CONTACT MABEL AT 785 695 4023. They flop to the floor and Dean climbs in underneath a thin blanket. The night is warm and the fan is on. Dean turns out the light and dozes with the fan's light breeze on his skin, and almost immediately wakes up with a jolt and a yell. He hears a rustle from the living room and a disheveled and sleepy Castiel appears in the doorway. Dean's heart is hammering and his brain is still half-asleep, so his reaching for Cas is more a reflex than a request. Nevertheless, Cas pads over to the bed, eyes half-closed, and gets in beside Dean. The weight and warmth of another body makes Dean feel safer, so he rolls over nearer to Castiel, nestling his back against the other man. Cas shifts around to accommodate Dean.  
'What's the weirdest nightmare you've ever had?' Dean isn't fully certain if he asked that out loud, eyes already closing.  
Cas mumbles his answer into Dean's neck. 'I'm back in the old house with Bartholomew. I never got my chance to run. I look everywhere for my suitcase, but I can't find it until the very last minute. I see his outline at the door and I try to leave, but the suitcase is too heavy, so he opens the door and sees me.' Cas shivers a little. 'And then he follows me and breaks every bone in my body, one by one.'   
Dean tries to keep his breathing even. 'But you did run. You got away.'  
'Yes. I did.'  
Dean falls asleep thinking about reaching for Cas in the dark and the low rumble of his voice, wondering what exactly they are to each other.


	23. 23.

Some Months Later  
-  
Dean steps outside and takes a deep breath. The early morning air is fresh and sharp in his lungs. The cold always makes him feel clean, inside and out. The mostly-bare trees sparkle with frost, and the ground is a shining carpet of ice over gold and red leaves. The sky is a clear canvas stretched above him, hardly a cloud in sight. He spends a minute just staring, watching his breath become steam, before Sam lumbers out, blowing into his cupped hands.  
'Perfect time of year for it, Dean. Please tell me you'll be making your pumpkin pie muffins for this shindig.'  
Dean grins and spreads his arms. 'Would I let you down, Sammy? Would I?'  
Bobby emerges from the house, pulling on his ratty old cap.  
'Hey Bobby,' Dean continues. 'Any special requests? You _are_ my employees for the day, least I can do is feed you.'  
Bobby squints at Dean. 'Don't be thinkin' I'm gonna be runnin' all over the place like some cocktail waitress, boy.' Dean waits, still smiling. 'I wouldn't complain if you made chocolate chip zucchini bread though,' Bobby mutters. Dean's grin widens and he claps Bobby on the back.  
'Everyone's got a weak spot.'  
'That's the gospel truth.' Jess joins them, wrapped in a long coat. She winds an arm around Sam and smiles. 'If you're taking requests...' They start walking toward the car.  
'Oh go on then.' Dean is laughing.  
'Maple and pecan plaits please! And meeting your charming and elusive boyfriend would be a bonus.'  
Bobby and Sam look at Dean, expectant. 'One charming and elusive boyfriend, coming right up. He's meeting us there.'  
'Bout time,' Bobby grumps. Dean disregards this, knowing Bobby is just nervous.  
They all pile into the car, clambering over and around boxes and bags. The trip is mercifully short: Dean managed to find a coffee shop slash bistro just 20 minutes away from his place that was closing down. With his savings and a small loan from the bank (courtesy of his Sam-written business plan), he was able to make a down payment and still have enough left to fix it up and get it running. It's a sweet little gig, too. It was already fitted with a proper kitchen when Dean bought it, so all it needed was a little tweaking and redecorating. Dean thinks the redecorating was his favourite part. He, Cas, Jo, Chuck, and Kevin all spent days painting, moving furniture, hanging art on the walls, and setting up the sound system. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of food, and a lot of paint fighting (Dean has significantly fewer wearable shirts now). He's proud of the place, he can't help it. It just needs a few more finishing touches and it will be ready for the grand opening this afternoon. Dean is going to spend all morning baking what he couldn't make yesterday while Sam, Bobby, Jess, and Cas hang the rest of the art and decorate a bit for the opening.  
As they pull up out front, Sam and Jess crane their necks to see out the window. Cas is leaning against the front door, underneath the wooden sign saying:

The Bunker

He looks at Dean and smiles, then his nervous eyes flick to the backseat. He walks over as everyone piles out of the car.  
'Hey!' Dean says, and plants one on Cas' lips (Look, everyone, look what I can do.) 'Cas, this is Bobby, and Sam, and Jess.'  
There are mutual anxious-to-please smiles. 'Hello,' Cas says. 'Dean's told me so much about all of you. Congratulations to you two, by the way.'  
Sam and Jess beam, Jess' engagement ring winking in the early morning sun.  
'Thank you! It's so nice to finally meet you.' Sam reaches to shake Cas' hand, and Jess gives him a quick hug.  
'Dean hasn't shut up about you since you met, it feels like we know you already.'  
Cas laughs, and turns to Bobby. Dean watches, trying not to let anyone know how much this matters to him. He keeps his face cautiously blank.  
Bobby shakes Cas' hand. 'So, you're the new man in Dean's life.'  
'It surprises me too.'  
Bobby hides a smile. 'How's business? Dean told us you set up shop.'  
'It's going pretty well. I've had a few commissions and I've started supplying one of those fancy kitchen stores. I finally got to quit at the hotel.'  
Dean chimes in, 'You can see some of Cas' work today, he's made a few decorations for the café.' Cas shoots him a grateful smile and Dean winks. 'Come and see it.'  
Dean unlocks the door and lets everyone in. He looks around and gives it a once-over. It's not a huge space, but it's open-plan and feels bigger than it is. The wooden floors make the place look homey and the glass displays make Dean think of ice cream shops. Dean tries to pretend he's seeing it for the first time - the half-brick and half-painted walls, the cushy chairs, the potted plants and hanging paintings, the lamps and couches by the window. 'The paint is kind of amateur, and the cushions don't really match, but - '  
Sam puts a hand on his arm. 'It's amazing, Dean.'  
Jess is wandering around the room, delightedly poking at the plants. 'I could _live_ here!'  
Bobby gives Dean a pat on the back and says gruffly, 'Nice work, Dean. I'm proud of you.'


	24. 24.

The rest of Dean's morning is a flurry of flour, dishes, timers, and piping bags. He ducks out occasionally to see how they're all getting on, but mostly he just listens to laughter and the sounds of voices (gravelly, surly, sincere, and chipper) that drift into the kitchen from the main room. It makes him smile. In fact, Dean smiles so much he surprises himself. He's in heaven. He's not in a huge panicked hotel kitchen, he can move at his own pace, he's focused, and the people he loves are nearby. Ellen even called from her job in Tucson to wish him luck. Does life get any better?

As a matter of fact, it does. Dean surveys the display shelves filled with baked goods – the pumpkin pie muffins are there, the chocolate chip zucchini bread, the maple and pecan plaits, and, because he knows Cas loves them, chocolate lava cakes. There are also blueberry muffins, homemade bagels, slices of different cakes, scones, and macaroons. Jess gets the coffee machine set up and working, and then it's time. When they open the doors of The Bunker for business at around noon to catch the rest of the lunch rush, it fills up quickly, a rush of orders and laughter and busy office workers. Jo, Kevin, and Chuck come in on their lunch break instead of eating at the hotel and make a show of admiring the paint job. Dean gives them all a huge box of pastries to take back with them. When the lunch rush dies down, he asks Sam to man the counter while he gets more pastries from the back and Cas follows him. He grins at Dean.  
'Congratulations. Your first day is half over. Nobody died or set fire to anything.'  
Dean steps into Cas' space. 'So what kind of congratulations-you-didn't-kill-anyone present are you going to give me?'  
Cas smirks and reaches down to undo the button on Dean's jeans. He slides his hand past Dean's waistband. Dean inhales sharply and pushes into Cas, pinning him against the wall, and kisses him hard. 'You are the best catastrophic distraction a man could hope for.'  
Cas smiles and pushes Dean back a bit. 'You're working, you know. I'll save it for later. Besides. This is not hygienic.'  
Dean smacks his ass on the way out. Cas laughs.


	25. 25.

The daylight is fading outside when Dean closes up. Sam, Jess, Bobby, and Cas are all sitting on the couches, picking at leftover pastries. Dean flops down next to Cas and throws an arm around him. He closes his eyes and Cas leans into him. 'I'm beat,' he declares. 'Thank you guys. I couldn't have done it without you.'  
'Anytime. Dean. Get these away from me or I will burst.' Sam leans back, holding his stomach.  
'Hey, you asked for 'em.'  
Sam groans and Jess laughs.  
Bobby grabs another slice of zucchini bread.  
Sam stares disbelievingly. 'How are you still eating?'  
'Effort of will.'  
'Shakespeare did say “Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.”' Cas chimes in.  
'See, Sam? You just need practice.' Jess gives him a shove.  
'I need a pump for my stomach is what I need.'  
'What a waste of good muffins!'  
Dean feels a kind of warmth in his stomach that spreads to his chest. He looks at Sam and Jess, how blindingly happy they are together. He looks at Bobby, who told Dean he was proud of him today, who's watching Sam with undisguised fondness. He looks at Cas, watches that wide smile that invites the world to smile with him, watches those blue eyes as they meet his own. Dean's not sure what will happen. He doesn't know if his bakery will do well, if he and Cas will stay together, if Sam and Jess will change once they're married, if Bobby...well, Bobby's always Bobby. The future is uncertain, a tunnel with twists and turns that Dean can't anticipate, but he thinks he sees light. Or is it the hope of light? He sees love. He sees happiness. He sees a family. And that's enough for him. What more can we ask of life?


End file.
